Echoes
by RHHP Freak
Summary: How does John deal with Sherlock's death? "There are times he doubts it had really happened." Now updated with Sherlock's point of view.
1. Chapter 1: Echoes

**Disclaimer: **Sherlock isn't mine, never will be. I am not worthy of it. I'm just another fangirl who is about to die, due to the lack of season 3.  
**A/N: **Just a little angsty story for you today. Please leave a review when you have read it. Then, there will be a funny story next time, I promise!

There are times he doubts it had really happened. He has to go to his bedroom, see the empty bed and remember it all over it. Feeling the heartbreak, the grief, the anger again and again and again.

He has to get away.

He has to get away from the empty flat. He has to get away from the lack of shooting. He has to get away from the fact that Sherlock was not there!

Sometimes he goes to pubs. Hoping the alcohol will numb his pain and take images and words out of his head. Some days it works. Other days it makes it all worse and when he gets back he collapses in sobs, the voices echoing in his head ("_Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?_" "_This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note_?" "_Goodbye John_"). He almost always ends up breaking something.

Sometimes he somehow ends up at the hospital where it happened. He stares at the top of it, and sometimes it looks like someone is up there, looking at him. That's when he runs away, but he always comes back. He is disgusted by the place and at the same time drawn to it. It's a morbid fascination he has.

And then there are the days he finds himself at the cemetary. He always ends up by his gravestone. It's the evidence, that this is not some horrid nightmare. It's harsh, cold reality as the Devil made it. And yet he always says the same thing. Stop pretending. Stop acting like you're dead, as though he is hoping it will open a secret passageway where Sherlock is hiding, safe and sound.

He brushes away the fallen leaves, wondering how many people come to this place. Mycroft? Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade? Some longforgotten cousin who was passing by anyway? There are no flowers to witness such a visit. Maybe he should get some, just to make it look less forgotten. Like somebody actually care. Then again, the thought of placing flowers on Sherlock's grave is almost as weird as the thought of giving a living Sherlock flowers. He almost chuckles. Almost.

He is always running away. Away from the voices in his head, the painful memories that follow. He finds a place of peace at the cemetary for some reason, but in the end he runs away from it too. But no matter how fast he runs, he always ends up going to places of pain. You can't run from your memories. He knows that more than anyone now.

He never looks back.

He never sees the shadow, always following him. Hiding in the shadows of the pub in a disguise. Standing not far from him as he gazes at the top of the hospital roof. At the edge of a graveyard, watching his tears.

And the shadow is always asking himself if he did the right thing that day. He knows he will have to come home to his friend.

Soon.


	2. Chapter 2: Watching

**Well, originally this story was just a one-shot, but then the plot bunnies hit me, so here is Sherlock's PoV. **

**Thanks to Lidil and mooray for reviewing the first part!**

**Watching**

He is very active for a man who was supposed to be dead. In fact, he is, without a doubt, the most active dead person, except from Irene Adler. They text each other a couple of times, sharing their 'Everybody Thinks I'm Dead' stories.

He got bored very quick. He hated being stuck in the small room, and after the first time he had shot at the walls, Molly had taken the gun and thrown it away. He didn't have any cigarettes and he couldn't update his blog. All of his favourite activities had been taken away from him. Which was why he started pacing the floor often.

Finally, after three months, he got to go outside. He walked around in the shadows of London, letting the Homeless Network know he was still there. Not many of them seemed surprised. He asked them to bring him news of anything suspicious, especially around Baker Street. He still wasn't that Moriarty was truly gone, and if he was right, he would make sure that he would not get to John or Mrs. Hudson.

After six months he started following Lestrade. Just for fun, to see if he could do it without being noticed. He saw him solving his cases, much, much slower than when he had been around. Donovan and Anderson were still sneaking around and he couldn't help but snapping a couple of pictures. When he returned it would be great blackmail. Who knew that Anderson wore dinosaur boxers?

Almost a year had passed before he watched John. He had started to limp a little again, there were bags under his eyes. All in all he looked like hell, or rather a man who had been through hell and survived. He tried to squash the guilt inside him. He had done this, to save him, to make sure he was going to be all right. However, the justification didn't seem to work as he watched his friend.

He stands outside in the middle of the night as his friend all but runs out. He follows him to the nearest pub and watch as he gets more and more drunk. John used to bemore of a happy drunk, but that has changed. Now he is a gloomy and aggresive drunk, lashing out at every person who gets too close to him, whether they're just concerned by his appearance or they're completely hammered. Usually, he gets too drunk to stagger home, so Sherlock calls a cab for him, telling the bartender to take care of John before he leaves.

Those days are the worst.

He stands in hiding watching as John goes to the same three places over and over and over again. The hopital where he had "died", the pub and the grave with his name on it.

At the grave he always asks for the same things, like the first time he had seen him. _Don't be dead. Just for me, Sherlock. Stop this, just stop this act. You cannot be dead, please come back. I'm alone again. Please..._

But he can't. Not yet, no matter how much he wants to. No matter how much John is hurting, it's better than being dead. It can only be better. He should know.

He keeps watching, never really leaving. And at the end of every day, he asks himself '_Why not_?'

He's running out of answers.


End file.
